


Nothing In Return

by galliumspoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Dark Sherlock, M/M, RUN JAWN RUN, Serial Killer Sherlock, Sherlock Being Creepy, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galliumspoon/pseuds/galliumspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn’t mean to walk in on Sherlock butchering a person that was still alive. He just wanted to surprise his boyfriend, so sue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing In Return

**Author's Note:**

> This was not beta'd nor brit-picked.  
> I did not do any research, so I probably got stuff wrong.  
> I own nothing, that honor goes to our lords and saviors Mofftiss, BBC, and ACD.  
> Feel free to comment, especially if it's about my mistakes and crappy writing. (Nicely please.)
> 
> I may be shitty writer, but no one can say I can't make things freaking creepy.  
> This was cobbled together over 2 or so actual writing days in total, with little to no editing. So yeah...  
> ENJOY :D

 John Watson dashed inside the church, slowly closing the heavy wooden doors of the old stone structure before frantically looking for a place to hide, the light reflecting off of his dark blue eyes for a fraction of a second. He walked quietly around the dimly lit church, despairing at the lack of adequate hiding places in his temporary haven. The doors of the church slowly creaked further open as John whipped his head to the side, silver moonlight glinting off of his golden-yellow hair, and he cursed under his breath; he was out of time.

John dove behind a pew just as a humanoid figure stepped through the crack it had made. The figure was backlit when it first entered the church, but when it got further inside its slanted verdigris eyes glinted and the bloody knife it was holding gleamed dully. The figure opened its mouth and a deep baritone rang out, falsely comforting, “John, it’s me, Sherlock. Don’t be afraid, it’s just me. Come out so we can talk about it.”

* * *

 John edged open the door to Sherlock’s basement, its hinges creaking slightly. “Sherlock? You in here?” his voice echoing around the large room, magnifying it slightly. “Sherlock?” John stepped out from behind the door, his eyes locking on to Sherlock’s instantly and John shivered. What made the hairs on his arm raise, though, was not the intensity of the stare Sherlock was giving him (though it usually was the source of the crawling feeling his skin had), it was the blood-soaked scene in front of him.

Sherlock was holding a gory knife almost delicately between his index finger and thumb, the point nearly breaching the naked skin of the still struggling captive that Sherlock had tied down to the cold, metal examination table with leather straps. John tore his eyes away from Sherlock’s piercing stare and looked to the person on the table. She was streaked with blood and was sobbing around the cloth rag shoved in her mouth to keep her quiet. She looked at John, her eyes begging him to help her, and John snapped.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John yelled. Sherlock stared at him blankly, as if he had no idea why John was upset. John made as if to go help the woman on the table and Sherlock finally showed a reaction and was there in an instant, blocking his access to the woman and holding the point of the grisly knife to his neck. “John, John, John.” Sherlock chided, crooning, as if he were speaking to a small child. “You can’t see, can you? After all this time, your brain is still _despicably_ average. She can’t live simply because she almost knew. She had the silly idea in her head that she could overpower me simply because I’m a teenage boy. A rather ridiculous mistake, if I’m to be frank with you.” His lips curled into a sadistic smile as he looked down at the blond boy, he delicately drew the tip of the knife across the middle of John’s neck, causing a small line of blood to appear. “It _is_ a pity that we found ourselves in this situation, though,” he whispered, leaning down so that his mouth was right next to John’s ear, his breath giving the smaller boy gooseflesh, “you were just getting so _interesting_.”

John kneed the taller boy in the stomach, dashing out of the door as Sherlock gasped for breath. Lucky for John, he had been to the Holmes’ manor many times before and knew it like the back of his hand. The building was filled with a ton of dead ends and circular routes that would make anyone who didn’t know the house well instantly lost. All of the hallways had plush dark red carpet that muffled John’s footsteps as he ran.

When John finally exited the building, out of breath, he pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and dialed 999. “999 Emergency Services. What is your emergency?” John rattled out the details of what he had stumbled upon, including the woman’s serious predicament. When he hung up, he glanced at the clouds overhead and started sprinting in the direction of town.

* * *

 John gasped as his back hit the cold stone wall of the church that Sherlock threw him against. His mind was racing, screaming _it shouldn’t end like this, what did I do to deserve this?_ Sherlock stalked forward, murderous intent flowing through every sinuous line of his lean body, blue-green eyes glittering. Sherlock pressed John against the wall, pressing the knife against his neck. John swallowed loudly. “I guess Sally was right after all, you are insane.”

Sherlock uttered an oath, his eyes narrowing. “That _bitch_ should have never even talked to you,” he spat, “ you are mine.” John stiffened under Sherlock as the possessive was uttered, making his dislike of its use very clear. Sherlock smirked, “Don’t worry my love, I’ll deal with her. She won’t be able to do much, after I’m through with her. Much less blab about the mental healthof others.” He paused, lightening the pressure of the knife of John’s neck, “I think I should like it if you were mine for the whole world to see, though. Should I carve my name into your skin while you scream? Begging for me to end the pain.” He smiled at the thought and breathed, “Oh, the _agony_ you would endure, my name a litany on your lips. By the end, you would be _pleading_ for me to save you, to end the torture. So delirious from your suffering that you wouldn’t even know where you are.” Scowling slightly, he lifted the knife from John’s neck. “But alas, I think not. Too déclassé.”

Lifting the knife, Sherlock pressed it against John’s windpipe, making a drop of blood trickle down to the collar of John’s shirt. “I think a clean death would be elegant, don’t you?” Sherlock smiled slightly, “Well, I say elegant, but I have to let myself indulge a little bit, don’t I?”

* * *

 John Watson, age 18, was found dead in St. Bart’s Cathedral early Saturday morning. Apparent cause of death was stated to be multiple stab wounds of the upper torso. His family was not available for comment. However, his now-mourning boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes spoke with us on the matter, “It deeply saddens me that someone could be so violent to such a good person,” he states. “I just miss him so much, and I hope that the killer can be caught and given punishment for the terrible deed he has done. Not just for the Watson family, but for the community in general. John gave so much, and he got nothing in return.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys.  
> I have a tumblr now... [Follow me.](http://thegalliumspoon.tumblr.com)  
> SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION DANCE  
> 


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